“Sometimes,” said Cynthia.
Justin didn’t pay much attention to Tessa’s dubious look because he decided the particular case she’d just pointed out would work perfectly with a suit he’d picked up yesterday. He held up his own ego, snapped a shot of the ad, and had an order placed in seconds.
Cynthia frowned in disapproval. “That’s so overpriced. You could get a cheaper one just like that at that store down on Market Street.”
“This one’s a Bloomfield,” he argued.
She still didn’t approve. “Label whore.”
He smiled at her. Life was still too good for him to be upset about much of anything. He had his life, he had his family, he had his job. The only thing that could’ve made his situation better was having citizenship in the National Registry.
And the guarantee that you’re not going to get sent away, said Horatio.
And Mae not hating you, added Magnus.
Why are you guys such buzzkills? Justin asked them.
But both were valid points, especially the former. As much as he’d enjoyed his mini-vacation, SCI’s bureaucratic delay had eaten up days he really couldn’t afford to waste. At least they’d reinstated his database access, so the time hadn’t been completely wasted. He’d been able to check current servitor records against what he remembered of cults that might have silver and moon connections, creating a list of groups worth visiting. He still wasn’t sure whether cracking the case would ensure or harm his ability to stay, but there was no use worrying about it tonight.
A server delivered several dishes to their table, all of which earned wary looks from Tessa—at least until the rice showed up. Her expression brightened at that and then almost comically plummeted again when she saw the chopsticks. Justin requested a fork for her but warned her that she needed to try everything.
“So this is what parenting’s like,” he murmured to Cynthia. Quentin had eagerly jumped in to teach Tessa how to use the chopsticks, just as he’d also volunteered to be her media guide. With his simpler explanations, Quentin actually did a pretty good job and seemed to have a crush on her to boot.
Cynthia shook her head. “You don’t know anything about parenting. Thankfully. It’s a lot harder than you think. Speaking of which…I don’t suppose you’ve told Mom you’re back?”
Justin nodded his thanks as a glass of bourbon arrived. Not the greatest complement to curry, but he felt he deserved something before returning to the grind tomorrow. “I don’t even think she realized I was gone. Besides, if she finds out about our living situation, she’ll want in on it too. Do you want to risk that?”
Cynthia answered with a grimace. No matter how different the siblings had become, there were certain things they were still of one mind on.
“Oh,” Tessa breathed with pleasure, looking up from her pad Thai.
Justin followed her gaze to a commercial showing a model in a fuchsia party dress. “Look at that,” he said. “You’re a real girl after all. You want it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how it would look.” Her Gemman wardrobe thus far had been ordered straight off the stream, consisting of everyday items in sensible colors. To everyone’s surprise, she’d taken to jeans right away, something Justin had been worried about after her lifetime of ankle-length skirts. He squinted at the address at the ad’s bottom.
“That’s right around the corner,” he said. “We can stop by after dinner.”
“No way,” said Cynthia. “I don’t want to go into that store. All those girls are half my age. It makes me feel like I’m clutching desperately at my youth.”
“Whatever you say, old lady. I’ll go with Tessa.”
“Yeah, because that’s not creepy at all.”
In the end, they decided to split up. Cynthia returned home with Quentin, and Justin took Tessa shopping. His sister wasn’t entirely off about the weirdness of being a thirtysomething guy in a teen girls’ clothing store, but it wasn’t like he was trying things on with her. He turned her over to a capable saleswoman, who was more than happy to show Tessa to the advertised dress…and many more.
Justin made himself comfortable on a purple bench near the dressing rooms. A screen on the wall flashed the day’s news stories. Cyn is wrong. Parenting’s not that hard as long as you have an open wallet, he told the ravens.
Horatio didn’t agree. Thank the gods you haven’t yet impregnated anyone.
I told you not to bring up any gods now that we’re back. I’m in enough trouble.
Not talking about something won’t make it go away, Horatio warned him.
His mental conversation was interrupted by the sight of a familiar face on the screen. His jaw nearly hit the floor. “Is that Lucian?” he asked aloud. The question was rhetorical, but a hovering saleswoman heard him.
“Lucian Darling? Of course it is.”